


been left behind (a thousand times)

by LightningRidgeBlackOpal



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: AU No Buzzfeed, Bookstore Owner Shane Madej, M/M, Podcaster Ryan Bergara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 04:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20370730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningRidgeBlackOpal/pseuds/LightningRidgeBlackOpal
Summary: He takes a long sip of his beer; Ryan watches the length of his throat. “I take it you don’t believe?” Ryan says, and Shane sets his beer down and grins.“No, but I’d like to.”





	been left behind (a thousand times)

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by @abovetheruins, who suggested "Ryan starts frequenting a new bookshop because he's smitten with the owner. Shane teases him about his love for occult and paranormal-related books and Ryan keeps trying to work up the nerve to ask him on a date" and who I can't say no to. Hope you enjoy!

“Holy shit, Ry. You have got it bad!” she teases, nudging him with her elbow and eyeing up the frankly alarming stack of books in the corner. Ryan groans. He had hoped that against all odds she wouldn’t notice, but he watches her approach the dangerously tall pile and lean in closer. “Since when are you into tarot?” she asks.

“Oh drop it,” Ryan grumbles, trying to ignore her laughter. “Tarot is interesting,” he says. She gives him a look which tells him she’s disappointed. “Look, I’m doing lots of research and checking books out of the library over and over got annoying. So I figured I would just buy some.”

“Sure,” Quinta says. She eyes the pile of receipts on the floor. “You just happened to get them all from the same shop because it’s closest, right?”

Ryan throws his arms up. “I guess!” he says. Quinta just laughs again; real, heavy, heaving laughter that doubles her over. “Come on, Sis,” Ryan says. Something in his voice must get through to her because she muffles it until she stops laughing and gives him a long look. He’s known her long enough to know what she’s thinking, sometimes. Right now, though, her expression is unreadable. “Anyway,” Ryan says, “if we’re done making fun of me for buying books, I wanted you to look over this script, remember?”

Ryan is proud of a lot of things in his life. Graduating second in his high school class, getting into a great college. His podcast, though, is his baby; his crown jewel; his legacy. _Paranormal Unsolved_ is what he’s dedicated his life to. It wasn’t an easy decision, wasn’t an easy fight with his parents, to basically toss his degree aside before he’d even gotten it because of his ‘ghost show,’ but Ryan feels this like the sun on his skin.

“Right, right. Well come on Makato Nagao,” Quinta says, but pauses at his confused expression. “The 19th director of Japan’s National Diet Library?”

“You know I’m also Mexican and Filipino, right?” Ryan says, and Quinta raises an eyebrow. “Also how do you know that?”

“Because I read, now quit arguing and show me the spooky, Neruda.”

He does, but when she sits down at his desk and starts reading over his words he says, “Pablo Neruda was from Chile, not Mexico.” Quinta turns for a second to look at him, and then returns to the script without a word. Ryan knows that she takes stuff like this seriously, that her English major didn’t go to as big a waste as his degree in criminal investigations, so he knows that she’s going to be absorbed in the writing for a while. Around the time she digs into the pocket of her smart blazer and pulls out a red pen he flees, settling for setting up a pot of coffee and waiting around for her to finish. Meanwhile, he stares at the pile of books in the corner and resolves to buy a bookcase.

By the time she emerges from his room she has a bit of that manic glint in her eye she gets after editing. “It’s great, kid. A little shuffling and a couple switches in verb tense; you’re set to jet.” she says. Ryan smiles, offers her some tepid coffee.

“Kid? Quinta I’m a month older than you,” he says and she laughs. She declines the coffee, but as she moves toward the door she pauses.

She meets his eye and holds his gaze for a while. “You’re not recording tonight, right?” she asks. Ryan shakes his head. “Great, put on some shoes Ry. We’re gonna go out and you’re gonna tell me about this bookstore.”

He groans, but he’s never been able to say no to her before.

***

Ryan is drunk. He knows this because his face feels hot and the loud music doesn’t bother him and his arm is slung across Curly’s shoulders like a tether. “... and the worst part is,” he says, while Quinta and Curly and Devon look on with quickly waning interest, “is that like, I can’t afford all these fucking books right? If my numbers drop for this next episode of Unsolved I might not make rent. But I can’t work up the nerve to like…” he sighs, downs some more of his beer.

“Can’t ask her out?” Devon asks. Ryan shrugs. He’s drunk, he’s feeling sorry for himself. It’s formed a negative feedback loop where the worse he feels the more he drinks and the more he drinks the worse he feels. He’s drunk enough that he can’t catch himself before he answers.

“No way, Dev. He’s so handsome and funny… shit. I can hardly even talk to him.”

His friends’ waning interest quickly waxes; he only kind of registers their collective surprise before he gets up and leaves the table to find the bathroom. Mirrors, however, always seem to put things together, and as he’s washing his hands he suddenly snaps his attention up to meet his own eyes. “I just said he,” he says to himself. Someone in a stall says, “no, you didn’t say anything,” but he’s already out the door and moving to walk straight past their table.

Curly’s hand reaches out to grab ahold of his elbow and he drags Ryan back over to sit.

“Excuse me, Ryan, but did you just say that you’re crushing on a guy and then try to flee?” he asks, as Devon and Quinta lean forward over the table like they expect him to whisper.

“Maybe,” Ryan answers. It’s sheepish, but it isn’t a whisper.

***

The bell chimes on his way in the door. Normally he doesn’t even register it, but after last night it sounds like an alarm. There’s no one in sight, so he heads straight toward the back left corner. He’s got three books in his hand already when he hears a chuckle behind him and straightens up. He turns and sees Shane standing there, glasses precarious on his nose and his hands on his hips. “Back already?” he asks, a wink in his voice. Ryan stutters and he just waves his hands dismissively. “Don’t let me scare you off, I was just putting some of these away. You know, at this rate you’re gonna clean me out of my whole Halloween display before it’s even July.” He’s teasing, but Ryan is off guard.

“Sorry,” he starts but Shane’s face drops, just a bit. “No, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.You just seem to be really into the paranormal is all.” Ryan shrugs. He hears his friends in his head. It’s easy enough to say you’ll be brave at the time, drunk and bold at night. Actually following through is a whole other beast.

“I uh,” he says, “I do a podcast. About the paranormal.”

Shane’s face kind of twists up in amusement. “Oh?” he prompts, waiting for Ryan to continue. After a while, he raises a brow in confusion. “Well you’re certainly talkative enough,” he says. It doesn’t sound teasing, but Ryan is so out of sorts that he feels like he’s only just catching up.

“It’s too early,” he says, “to be this talkative.” Shane pretends to check a watch and Ryan rolls his eyes, finally moving to walk down the aisle and head toward the counter. Shane moves out of his way, shadows him to the front of the store and smiles at him from the register.

“Twelve bucks,” Shane says and it’s Ryan’s turn to look confused.

“There’s no way, dude,” he moves to grab the books back and turn them over to double check the prices but Shane’s shoving them into a bag before he can. The register dings, snapping his eyes over to where the display reads twelve dollars. “Okay…” Ryan says, looking back over to Shane as he holds out a twenty. Shane’s eyes are over his shoulder, and he turns to see what he’s looking at.

“It’s not really that early, you know,” Shane says, and Ryan sees the clock over the door. It’s already after one.

“Shit, I’m late,” Ryan says. He grabs the bag and takes off, tossing a wave over his shoulder.

***

“...and so, through tarot, we can allow the universe to give us direction with random chance and an artistic mind. Is it mystic? Is it finding a deeper meaning in meaningless things? After all my research what I can tell you is, I don’t know. Maybe it’s worth another look, because for now the secrets of tarot will remain… unsolved.”

He hits the button to stop recording, and stares for a moment at his screen. At the waveform of his voice and the doc with his script. He still has to edit, but his stomach growls angrily and he presses his hand against it. “Shit,” he says, his voice raspy from the hour he just spent talking. He wanders into the kitchen, stares at his fridge for a while. Nothing seems appealing. He feels restless, like he needs to get out of the house and go for a walk or something, so he pulls on his shoes and heads out into the evening.

Sometimes he gets in this restless mood; has to give in to the urge to explore. The streets of LA are always full of mystery, every person a puzzle, every doorway the entrance to a labyrinth. Right now, his mind is an animal pacing a cage. He walks aimlessly for a while, headphones in his ears working their way through a playlist, and then he realizes he's right near the best cafe, Java The Cup. He usually edits there, but it isn't too late to pop in tonight and grab some tea and a pastry to settle his stomach.

He enters and the warmth is a blast from the fire on the far side. Sara looks over her shoulder from the sink where she's cleaning out the espresso taps and winks at him. He dries off her hands on her apron as she turns around and he offers her a smile. "Such a surprise to see you here without your laptop," she says and he shrugs. "Whataya want?"

"Just some tea, no caffeine. Oh, and one of your apple fritters," he answers, reaching into his pocket. She holds up a hand.

"On the house," she says, carefully scooping her house blend peppermint and jasmine into a mug while reaching in to grab the two fritters still on the tray. "Take both," she says, "or I'll have to toss them."

He doesn't try to argue, but when she turns to grab the mug he drops a five into the tip jar.

He walks away from the register, aiming for his favourite table 

“Fancy seeing you here,” someone says from his right. He looks over and pauses, stops still suddenly. Shane is sitting in one of the comfy chairs by the fire, a big, worn book cradled in his hands. He’s sliding in a bookmark and closing the book already. It seems like an invitation, so Ryan walks over. “Well well well, if it isn’t my best customer,” he says.

Ryan smiles, rolls his eyes. He takes a bite of an apple fritter, then pushes the plate forward across the table toward Shane. “You come here often?” Ryan asks, and Shane chuckles.

“Suppose so. I’ve known Sara for years,” he says and Sara laughs from behind the counter, face toward the sink full of hot water. Shane leans forward, like a kid sharing a secret, and says, “we used to date.” He winks. Ryan glances over toward Sara in shock but she hasn’t looked over yet. 

“Don’t you two go telling any lies about me,” she says.

They seem close, and Ryan feels, once again, like he can never just get his footing around Shane. Like every time he thinks he’s made it to the end of the maze he hits another dead end; another mirror; has to turn back and recalibrate.

He’s never been much good at any of this. It had taken long enough for him to come to terms with his sexuality that he didn’t get the chance to practice flirting with dudes when he was young and immune to rejection. As he gets older, it gets easier and harder at once. There’s a tinge to fear to it now.

“So, how’s your podcast going?” Shane asks, and it snaps Ryan out of his zone and back into himself.

“Great, actually. I just finished recording my episode about tarot before I headed out for a walk.” Shane chuckles. His eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles at Ryan. “It was really interesting, actually. I usually focus more on ghosts and apparitions and cryptids than beliefs and practices but learning about the history and the different applications of tarot reading was cool.”

Shane’s nodding along, but when Ryan pauses he says, “ghosts _and_ apparitions? Aren’t they the same?”

“No way, dude. So like, ghosts would be the spirits of people who used to be alive; but apparitions could be any kind of being that exists across whatever divide there is. So if it’s like, interdimensional being, or if its like, a poltergeist or a demon. Things that weren’t human but exist or affect this plane of existence.”

Shane laughs outright at this, but not like he’s mocking or making fun. He laughs like he finds Ryan entertaining, like he’s having a good time. Over his shoulder, he notices Sara smiling towards the two of them but when she notices his eyes she goes back to sweeping up. “Okay,” Shane says, and Ryan snaps his attention back over. “Do you talk about aliens?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” Ryan says and Shane smiles.

“Now there’s something I can get behind. Aliens are real, obviously, but I don’t think they’re walking around like Jar Jar Binks or whatever. Life of some sort? Definitely.”

“Why couldn’t there be intelligent life though? There’s so much of space, why couldn’t some other planet somewhere have also ended up with lots of biodiversity like Earth?”

Shane shrugs. He grabs his napkin and waves it in the air; a white flag while he finishes the apple fritter Ryan gave him. “You’ve convinced me. ET will be waiting in my backyard when I get home.” Ryan laughs, and then realizes his tea has gotten cold. He drinks it anyway, while Shane puts his book in his bag. “Speaking of which, it’s getting a bit late,” he says. Ryan looks at his phone and realizes he’s right. “I bet the podcast is great, X-Files. I’ll have to check it out some time.” He winks while he walks away, and Ryan wants to shout after him, or meet him outside and ask him to come over, or say something witty and interesting. Instead of that, he finishes his tea, and eats his pastry, and makes his way home.

It isn’t until he’s walked in the door that he realizes something.

_Shit_, he thinks, _he called me X-Files because he doesn’t know my name because I never fucking told him._ He thunks his head back against the door. Then he walks into his apartment and rubs at the back of his head and thinks about how many things he can possibly fuck up. He sits on his couch and watches some true crime show until he falls asleep.

***

He posts the episode and does his best to not frantically refresh the page waiting for views. It never helps, in fact always makes him feel worse. He trusts that he knows what he’s doing. He trusts that his audience won’t just abandon him, but still. This is the first month that he’s been doing this full-time. He has no backup plan.

Instead of fretting about numbers, he thinks he should actually read one of the books in the dangerously tall stack in his living room. He gets comfy on the couch and holds his tea in one hand and a novel in the other, and starts reading. He doesn’t make it too far, though, before his mind is wandering and he finds himself distracted.

“Get a grip,” he says to himself, sliding a bookmark between the tenth and eleventh pages of the novel and glancing at the clock. It’s already been an hour and he’s accomplished nothing, so he leaves the house.

He doesn’t plan to, but ends up at the bookstore. He stops outside, gazing up at the sign. OBLIVION BOOKS, painted in sharp thin strokes. The hours stand stark white against the clear field of the freshly cleaned glass. He opens the door, and Shane looks up from behind the counter. “Well, if it isn’t X-Files!” he says, “you know if we keep running into each other you’ll eventually have to tell me your name.”

Ryan chuckles. “You could have just looked at the receipts,” he says, “I’m pretty sure my name is on there. Or my card.”

Shane shrugs. “Where’s the fun in that?” he asks. “No wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess... “ he moves one (long) arm to cross his chest and rests his elbow on it, tapping at his chin with a (long) finger. “Steve?” he says and Ryan shakes his head.

“Strike one,” Ryans chuckles.

“Ooh, a game. What do I get if I win?” Shane asks.

Ryan doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling so brave, why he’s been put at ease.

“Keith,” Shane says, and Ryan laughs outright, pulling a face. “No, you’re right. You don’t look like a ‘Keith’ at all.” Ryan holds up two fingers; strike two he mouths. “Hmmmmmmm…” Shane ponders, obviously exaggerating. “I might be more inclined to guess right if I knew what I was playing for.”

Ryan tilts his head in thought. “If you guess right, I’ll buy you dinner. But if you’re wrong, you have to pay.” Shane drops his arms, stops the faux-contemplation. His face is mostly neutral but there’s a whisper hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Ryan watches his reaction; he’s handsome in a unique way; not a classic beauty like a Greek statue, or a model-esque alien beauty, but something interesting. His mess of brown hair, the squared glasses with clear frames slipping down his nose; his long, beakish nose that fits on his face but would be ‘too big’ on anyone else’s. His height, the span of his hands. His trickster smile. There’s a lot to find interesting.

“Oh-ho,” he says. “Dinner either way, then?” his voice carries a wink. He’s smiling outright, now. “Can I have my second guess back? You don’t look anything like a Keith and I didn’t realize the enormity of the stakes, here.”

Ryan laughs, leaning forward on the counter. “I guess I can be magnanimous,” he says and Shane nods.

“Dilly dilly, then,” Shane says. It’s quiet enough that he’s pretty sure Shane was talking to himself. He can’t help but break out into hysterical laughter. 

“What the hell does that mean?” Ryan asks but Shane is deep in thought. He wanders a bit, continues putting books on shelves and wiping off the tables.

“Fox?” Shane says suddenly, snapping Ryan’s attention away from the book he’s been staring out without reading. Ryan quirks a brow.

“As in Mulder? Gosh, you could have just stuck with X-Files at this rate,” he answers, once again holding up two fingers. Shane snaps a finger, says, “drat” out loud which startles another laugh from Ryan. 

Ryan can tell he’s finishing up, struggling to fill more time. He hates to be presumptuous, but it seems like Shane wants to keep this going as long as he can. As he moves to usher Ryan out and turns to lock the door, he says, “are you sure your name isn’t Keith?” and laughs.

Ryan holds up three fingers, and follows Shane into the night.

He picks up a piece of his spicy pork teriyaki with his chopsticks, but drops it laughing when Shane just spears a water chestnut with one of his. “Oh stop laughing at me,” he says, “we can’t all have hand-eye coordination.” Ryan sighs, leaning forward conspiratorially. He picks up his piece of pork again and chews on it while thinking of what to say. “So,” Shane says, “since we’re here having dinner and all, what is your name?”

“Ryan,” he says, and Shane smiles. He repeats his name, says it a couple times like he likes the feeling of it in his mouth. Ryan wants to know if his lips taste like coffee or bulgogi. Or both. Ryan wants to know if the stubble along his jaw is soft, if the sparkling light in his eye is because of him, if there’s really something here. “Ryan Bergara.”

“Well,” Shane says, reaching a long arm across the table to shake his hand, “it’s nice to formally meet you, Ryan Bergara.” His hand eclipses Ryan’s in a way that makes him feel uncomfortably childlike. Up close, really, the whole of Shane is much bigger. He’s tall and his arms are long and his hands are big and his legs are long; all long lines. Ryan laughs, drops Shane’s hand when he realizes that they’ve stopped shaking and he’s just holding it now. “So, tell me more about this podcast,” Shane says and Ryan’s smile lights up.

“Well, it’s just me at the moment. Sometimes my friends help out with editing but I just pick a topic, or have my audience vote and pick a topic and then I do research. I try to get to the bottom of it and explain what it is and the history of it and why it’s important.”

“Ghosts and ghouls are important?” Shane questions. As much as it could, Ryan thinks, it never really comes off like Shane is making fun of him. Teasing, maybe. Sarcastic, definitely. But it never feels like he’s being malicious.

“Of course! Folklore is always important. Ghost stories are just folklore, stories about monsters. You know, ghost stories in Japan are totally different to Eastern Europe, and those are totally different from Mexican or Latin American ghost stories. And don’t get me started on Americana. Ghosts are just… us; but not. They serve the same function as monsters do in culture. They reveal what we’re afraid of, but with ghosts it’s more personal because they are us.” Shane is smiling, nodding along. Ryan’s glass of soju is sitting untouched next to his right arm. He takes a long sip of his beer; Ryan watches the length of his throat. “I take it you don’t believe?” Ryan says, and Shane sets his beer down and grins.

“No, but I’d like to.”

The night is still early as they step out of the restaurant, Shane bumping into his side a bit, knocking his elbow against Ryan’s shoulder. While the moon rises, half-full and lambent, the streetlights come on. “You got any important supernatural business to attend to?” Shane asks. His elbow bumps against Ryan’s arm again. Ryan shakes his head and Shane grins. “Great, you wanna grab a few drinks?”

There’s no reason not to, and Ryan fears that when this night is over, he’ll have lost all of this newfound comfort and confidence and hide away like Cinderella. “Sure,” he says, smiling back. Shane’s eyes are crinkled up, stuck still on Ryan’s smile, and the yellow light of the streetlights shine in the dark pools of them like stars in the night sky. In LA, it’s rare to see the stars; Ryan finds it hard to pull his gaze away.

Shane leads them to a quiet bar, and Ryan chuckles as they walk in the door. From behind the bar, Curly glances over and breaks into a smile. “Manito!” he shouts, and Ryan blushes. “What brings you here on a weekday, Ry?”

Shane glances over at him, and he shrugs. They take seats at the bar and Curly places a couple beers in front of them before they’ve even ordered anything. “Wow, getting the VIP treatment?” Shane teases. “Your podcast must be more popular than I thought, **Ry**.” Something about the way he says it, how his voice deepens, makes Ryan glad that his blushes don’t show too heavily through his skin and even less so in the dim light of the bar. The neon everywhere, the lights glinting in Shane’s eyes. Ryan feels a fresh new fear blooming in his chest, bright and heavy; is suddenly terrified that he’s falling in love when he doesn’t even know if there is any chance for his feelings to be returned.

“I’ve known Ryan here a long time,” Curly interrupts as Ryan goes to speak, “not to say that his podcast isn’t popular.” Shane smiles, reaches a hand over the bar to Curly, who shakes it bemused. “Curly,” he says.

Shane grins, “Shane Madej. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Ryan sets down his beer and slides off the chair, tells Shane he’ll be right back. On his way to the bathroom he stops by the jukebox and shoves a couple dollars in, playing Curly’s least favourite song four times in a row.

As he walks back he realizes his mistake, seeing Curly and Shane talking and laughing without him. _Oh god_, he thinks, _please tell me Curly isn’t telling him anything embarrassing. Tell me Curly isn’t talking about me losing my shorts at the waterpark._ They stop laughing just as Ryan sits down, and Shane glances over to give him and cheeky grin, all dimples and trickster eyes. “So, you got a degree in criminal investigation?” Shane asks. “That sure sounds interesting.”

Ryan shrugs. “Yeah, I wanted to be a researcher for the CIA or something I guess. I ended up getting the degree but while I was doing some research on some unsolved true crime stuff for a class I kind of… realized I cared a lot more about mysterious things than the actual real application of the degree.” Shane nods, like he understands, like he’s interested.

“I, also, have a completely useless degree from a university that cost way too much. I went to school for film, funnily enough, and then opened a bookstore. I just… fell in love with literature.”

Ryan can’t fight his smile, doesn’t want to anyway. Curly surreptitiously drops off two more beers and two shots of tequila to match, and then makes himself scarce.

From the other end of the bar, behind Shane's shoulder, he can see Curly mouth '_He's hot. Bookstore dude?_' Ryan doesn't respond. "Why a bookstore and not, like a theater or something?" Ryan asks, before they clink the shots together and down them. Shane shrugs.

"There's just something about books. I mean, in a way they are movies, because you can see the scenes so clearly in your head. On the other hand they can be better than films because there's so much that you can't convey visually." Ryan is nodding along now, rapt in what Shane is saying. He realizes he's leaning forward a bit, almost in Shane's space, but he doesn't stop himself and Shane doesn't say anything. "I mean, right now, just visually, tell me what I'm thinking."

Ryan ponders: His eyes are half-lidded, not quite a glare but close; the corners of his mouth are angled down slightly; he's leaning forward, almost drooping, rather than sitting up straight. "You're sad about something," he guesses and Shane laughs.

"I was thinking about how I ate too much bulgogi earlier. But that's exactly my point. Visual information will only give you basics; happy, sad, angry,"

"Horny?" Curly adds on his way by, clearing their empty shot glasses as he goes. Shane laughs, but raises a hand to say he's right.

"Yeah. You can only get base emotions from looking at someone, but if this were a book you would have read that my stomach growled, and that I haven't had bulgogi in years and so I overindulged, and a hundred other pieces of background information."

Ryan says, "right. And even though a movie _could_ have a VO explaining that and a sound effect of your stomach and everything else, to include all of it would be… sloppy."

"Exactly. You can include so much more in books." Shane reaches for his beer and finds it empty. Curly is nowhere in sight. Shane checks his watch and looks surprised. "Damn, it's a bit late. You wanna get out of here?" he asks.

Ryan doesn't know what he means. He doesn't want to leave at all; wishes he could stay here getting to know Shane for days. Does Shane mean get out of here together or go their separate ways? "Suppose so," Ryan says, wishing he could read the book of Shane and figure him out more.

***

Ryan spends the next day freaking out. He kept pacing his apartment, moving from room to room aimlessly, staring at his phone and walking away from it, desperate to understand what the hell happened last night. Was it a date? Neither of them had said so, but Shane had paid for dinner and drinks and they walked back to the shop together before splitting paths. He still doesn’t even know if Shane is into men, if he is into Ryan. The doubt is ringing clearly in his head; so loud that it clouds everything else and jumbles it all up.

He’s anxious. He hates the feeling of not understanding things. He calls Curly.

“What’s up, Ry? You get some last night?” he answers and Ryan groans, flopping backwards onto his bed.

“No,” he says, and Curly laughs.

“What? I thought for sure the tequila would seal the deal,” he answers.

“I... don’t even know if that was a date?” Ryan asks. Curly is silent, long enough that Ryan has to check if he’s hung up. Then he hears a peal of laughter, distant like Curly set the phone down and walked away from it. “Are you kidding me?” Curly asks when he picks the phone back up. Before he can even answer, Curly hangs up, laughing even harder the whole time.

“That wasn’t any fucking help,” Ryan says to no one. Then he continues pacing around his apartment until it becomes too much, and he heads out on a walk to burn off some energy.

He finds himself once again at Java The Cup, walking in to see Sara dropping off some enormous coffee at one of the tables. She looks toward the door and waves at him, chatting with the couple at the table before meeting him at the counter. "Whataya want?" she asks.

Ryan suddenly remembers that Shane said he used to date Sara. He petrifies, suddenly shocked speechless by his own penchant for being a complete disaster.

"Are you feeling alright?" she says, concern on her face as she eyes him up and down, "I'll make some peppermint tea. If you're gonna hurl get to the bathroom or you're cleaning." She points him to a nearby table and he walks over automatically and sits.

She joins him a few minutes later, setting down his tea and looking up at him. She raises a hand and swipes some of her wild hair (teal, at the moment. She has a penchant for dying it) out of her eyes.

"So. I heard from a birdy that you had dinner with Shane," she says. Ryan nearly chokes on his tea, flushes from coughing. "Honey, there are no secrets in this town." He takes a moment to breathe. 

"Yeah." he answers. She smiles.

"Cool. Did you have fun?" He doesn't hesitate to nod. "Cool."

She leaves it there, carefully neutral. Ryan thinks again about how much help a book would be. What he wouldn’t give for an insight into what everyone was thinking. He's never been great at subtext, at reading people. He makes a shit poker player and a worse flirt.

"I feel like I’m overthinking everything,” he says. Sara shrugs.

“Cool. Talk to Shane about it.” She stands up, patting his head, and goes back to check on the other customers. Ryan finishes his tea, and drops a five into the tip jar.

***

As he walks up, Shane is just locking the door to the shop. He turns, and pauses when he notices Ryan. “Hey,” he says, waving. Ryan smiles.

“Hi,” he answers, walking over and standing in front of him. “I just wanted to say I had a lot of fun last night.” Shane grins. He’s beautiful.

“That’s good to hear. I was hoping I might see you around.” Shane starts walking and Ryan walks with him, the sun setting around them and a light breeze picking up. The wind catches Shane’s flannel and it billows behind him like a cape. “I don’t really make a habit of buying dinner for my customers, but since you seem to be trying to keep the shop afloat on your own I figured you’d earned it.” Ryan laughs, shoves at Shane lightly. “What? Really I should be thanking you. I just used all the money you gave me to pay for last night.”

He pauses, sitting on a bench by the water. The sunset is painting the ocean. Ryan joins him, their knees pressed together, the wind flowing past them like a tide. “Well maybe… maybe next time I’ll pay,” Ryan says and Shane hums. His arm shifts, and Ryan can feel the heat radiating off his hand where it’s sitting over his own.

“Next time, huh? Getting a bit presumptuous.” He doesn’t say no, though, and he comes off like he’s teasing, and his hand shifts again to rest more fully overtop of Ryan’s. “I suppose I can be magnanimous,” he continues, quoting Ryan from last night and cracking a smile when he finally looks over.

Ryan’s never been good at this but he would have to be dead not to pick up on the cues Shane is displaying. He shifts his hand so that he can twist their fingers together, and Shane gives it a quick squeeze. “Good,” Ryan says, “I’m glad you can deign to give me a second date.” Shane laughs, lets go of Ryan’s hand to run his hand up along his spine. Ryan shivers against the touch, against the heat in his gut, against the pounding of his heart. Shane rests his hand on the back of Ryan’s neck, and tugs lightly. He goes with it, leans forward and presses his lips against Shane’s. They kiss there, as the sun slips down and the winds pick up.

As he pulls back, Shane is grinning. “Finally,” he says, “I wasn’t sure you’d ever get the hint.” Ryan laughs. “I’m serious!” he says. “I was worried for a bit there. Thought maybe you weren’t into me.” Ryan pulls him forward again and kisses him again, because now he can, and because he doesn’t know what to say. He thinks Shane understands the subtext, though.

***

“Well you two move fast,” Curly says, walking over to collapse down into the booth next to Quinta. They share a laugh. Ryan hardly hears him, leaning back in to kiss Shane again and again and again. Shane turns to toss him a smile.

“I swear it’s just him. It’s like he thinks I’m going somewhere or something,” he jokes and the other two laugh. Ryan pouts, crossing his arms in the booth. Soon, it will be night time. Soon, it will be dark out and the neon lights will play across his cheeks and he can pull Shane close to him in the crushing heat of his apartment. Until then, he’s keeping his hands firm around his arm, and he’s keeping his lips close to his stubbled jaw.

“Making up for lost time,” Quinta says. Her voice is warm, she’s not making fun. Ryan knows that none of them are. Shane’s hand is on his thigh, holding tight just above his knee.

“So anyway, what are we up to tonight?” Curly asks, and the four of them have another drink, and their laughter echoes out the door. Soon, Sara and Devon will join them, and they can make plans, and they will have fun. Soon, soon, soon. Until then, Ryan is right where he wants to be; his friends around him; his arms wrapped tight around his boyfriend; all the time in the world to look forward to.

He doesn't know if this will last, if this is love. He doesn't know, but he wants to learn and he's never been able to resist a mystery in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Here Comes the Night Time by Arcade Fire.


End file.
